The Vanishing Cabinet
by Violet Wild
Summary: "Draco's Detour" from Half-Blood Prince, told from Draco's and Narcissa's perspectives. One shot. Rated T to be safe for VERY minor language, it could probably be a K . I just felt like Draco's and Narcissa's sides of this story were begging to be told!


_Description: "Draco's Detour" from Half Blood Prince, told from both Draco's and Narcissa's perspectives. The scene where Draco is in Borgin and Burke isn't entirely canon with the scene in the book or the movie. I know I said in "Only the Beginning" that I always try to stay canon to the books, but I just couldn't write this story that way, unfortunately. On another note, I try to make my characters sound as British as possible to keep them in character, but I'm from the US, so if I accidentally slip in a "Mom" instead of "Mum", or some of the dialogue doesn't sound exactly right, please bear with me! Enjoy, and please review!_

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not to me. _

Draco turned the corner to Knockturn Alley, fuming. His teeth were gritted so tightly his jaw was beginning to ache, and he could feel his temple throbbing in his forehead. With every step he took, he could hear Potter's words replaying in his head: _"They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!" _An inexpressible rage had seized him. How _dare _Potter speak to his mother that way! He could feel himself shaking with anger. Ever since last month, every time someone mentioned his father, or every time something even _reminded_ him of his father, he felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

His mother had lectured him on maintaining his composure at all times after they'd left Madam Malkin's ("What were you _thinking_, using language like that in a _public place_? Did you_ really_ think that referring to that girl with the word you used was going to change anything?") Despite her belief in pureblood superiority, Narcissa was determined that her family should only use words that people would hear in "civilized conversation", which didn't include "Mudblood". ("Using the word _Muggle-born _at least doesn't suggest that you were raised by Neanderthals!") However, Draco could see that beneath her eternally cool and collected exterior, even she had been upset by the scene in Madam Malkin's. Draco hadn't heard her talk about his father since…well, since about a month ago. As soon as he'd heard what Potter said, it was like he could physically feel the pain it had caused his mother. His father was a taboo topic now; his mother never mentioned him, and everyone else knew they shouldn't either. It was like his mother was trying to pretend he had never been there, that nothing was different. She had purged the house of anything that could possibly remind her of her husband; any pictures of him had been taken down from the walls and she had firmly shut the door to his study. To hear Potter speak about his father to his mother that way, like it was no big deal, like it was actually _okay _to talk about him, had flooded him with a rage like he had never felt before.

Draco suddenly felt a biting pain in his palm, and he realized that he had been clenching his fists so tightly that his nails had drawn blood. He looked up and saw a poster of Fenrir Greyback's mug shot on the dank alley wall, and quickly used the inside of his sleeve to absorb the blood.

It wasn't his first time in Knockturn Alley. He'd been once before when he was twelve with his father, who had needed to sell some things in Borgin and Burke to avoid trouble should the Ministry instigate a raid on Malfoy Manor. He could still almost hear his father's voice speaking to him all those years ago, in the same tone he always used, like he was talking to a subordinate at the Ministry, not to his son: "_Don't touch anything"_. Draco of course hadn't been able to resist temptation and had touched whatever caught his eye. He remembered the sound of his father's walking stick slamming down next to his hand, and the irritation in his father's eyes. Draco felt his heart sink as he walked into Borgin and Burke. Why hadn't he just behaved himself around his father, when he'd still had the chance?

The door to Borgin and Burke was heavy, and Draco had to give it a good shove to open it. It creaked as it opened and dragged against the floor, as if it was reluctant to let anyone through. As Draco stepped inside, Borgin jumped and looked up from the front counter, as if he hadn't been expecting customers. When he recognized Draco, his face twitched into what Draco could only assume was a furtive attempt at a smile, and pushed the _Daily Prophet _he had been reading aside.

"Young Master Malfoy", he said in a scratchy voice, as if he hadn't spoken all day. "What a…_pleasure_…to see you."

Draco smirked slightly. Another time, he might have laughed at the time it had taken Borgin to decide just what word could be used to describe seeing him. When he was twelve he could tell that Borgin was afraid of his father, and now Borgin was clearly a little afraid of him.

"What brings you here today, young Master Malfoy?" Borgin seemed pleased at the possibility of making a sale. "We've just gotten in a few new items."

Draco scanned the store's shelves. Who on earth would be supplying a store like Borgin and Burke these days? It was clear that any "new" items were those that had been sold privately to Borgin by people who had decided to do their spring cleaning early when the _Prophet _had published an article on new policies regarding search and seizure in the homes of suspected Death Eaters.

"I'm actually just looking around a bit."

Borgin nodded and returned to reading the _Daily Prophet_, while still eyeing Draco closely. Draco turned a little to his left and noticed a tall, black cabinet. Tall enough to fit a person inside it…

This must be it. Upon further inspection, he realized it had been there that day with his father; it was one of the things Draco had reached out to touch, only to have his father's walking stick slam down beside his hand. He carefully opened the cabinet's doors- it had shelves like any other cabinet, but it also had a wide space in front of the shelves, wide enough to fit several grown men.

"Ah, the Vanishing Cabinet…those are very rare, young Master Malfoy, very rare indeed. And quite expensive, not many can afford them, but of course, that should present no trouble for you." Borgin was clearly under the impression that he was flattering Draco.

Draco nodded almost imperceptibly; he had only been half listening to Borgin. He studied the cabinet inside and out, and although this one was obviously in working order, he could find no difference between it and the one that had been brought to Malfoy Manor. Maybe the one they had wasn't really broken…but there was only way to find that out for sure, and he wasn't about to take the chance that he be volunteered to demonstrate.

"So, if a Vanishing Cabinet was broken, how would you mend it?" Draco couldn't think of a subtle way to ask.

Borgin seemed surprised by the question. "I assure you, young Master Malfoy, the Vanishing Cabinet is in excellent condition."

Draco wasn't sure he appreciated the way Borgin kept calling him _young _Master Malfoy. He wasn't that young, and it wasn't like his father was there and there was a need to differentiate between the two of them. He stood a little taller, and said, "I know, but if it wasn't, how would you go about fixing it?"

Borgin frowned. "I suppose, young Master Malfoy, it would depend on what the problem was. I take it that you already have a Vanishing Cabinet, one in need of repair?"

Draco responded with a noncommittal shrug.

"Perhaps if you brought it in, I could repair it." Borgin's eyes gleamed, presumably at the amount he could charge for this service.

Draco shook his head. "No, I can't, you just need to tell me how to fix it."

Borgin's lips curled into an unpleasant smile. "I am afraid, without seeing it, that would be very difficult to do. Impossible, actually."

_Impossible? _Anger swelled in Draco's chest. Borgin knew damn well how to fix any Vanishing Cabinet; he just didn't want to lose the money he thought he could make. He didn't have time for this, he had a job to do, and the welfare of his family depended on it. He glared at Borgin and then continued to examine the Vanishing Cabinet. How could he get Borgin to tell him how to fix it? It wasn't like paying the money to have it repaired was a problem, but he needed the Vanishing Cabinet they had to stay put, and he needed it mended. He had been promised his father's release and full amnesty for his family should he complete the task he had been assigned, but he could make no progress unless he could get Borgin to tell him how to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. A sudden pain seared in his left forearm, and he clamped his hand over it. It then occurred to him…

Draco stepped over to the front counter and yanked up his left sleeve, before he could change his mind. This was how everyone else persuaded people, and why shouldn't he follow suit now that he was one of them? "Does _this _make you more confident?"

Borgin's eyes widened; he sputtered in horror and nodded, aghast at what was on Draco's left forearm.

Draco smirked. "I thought so."

_Well that wasn't so difficult_, he thought. He had often imagined rolling up his sleeve and watching people jump into action, suddenly willing to do whatever he wanted just because of the symbol on his forearm, but he had also wondered if he could really do it. He was relieved that he had gotten it over with, but it somehow felt surreal. It was almost like he had been standing off to the side, watching someone else jerk up their sleeve to threaten someone.

Borgin reached below the counter and pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill. "I'll-I'll just write down the instructions for you then…" he said shakily, with a frightened glance up at Draco.

Draco left the shop, pocketing the sheet of parchment. It felt like it had been ages since his arm had been exposed. It had been almost exhilarating to be the one who had the control and power for once, but it somehow didn't feel right. It was one thing to be feared by a first year, or a house elf, for silly, childish reasons. It was another thing to genuinely frighten an adult.

Back in Diagon Alley, Narcissa was beginning to really worry. She wouldn't ordinarily have been so concerned about Draco being in Diagon Alley by himself, not at sixteen, but considering the circumstances, it was inadvisable for anyone, no matter how old they were, to wander around alone. You never knew who was lurking about in what were usually safe places these days…it was impossible to know who you could trust. What had possessed him to take off like that? Especially after the perfectly reasonable talk she'd given him on staying together at all times. Narcissa scanned both sides of the street; there were only so many places he could be. She retraced her steps back towards the entrance of the alley, where any shops that would be of interest to Draco were located. The Alley was deserted, and she found herself resisting the urge to call out his name. Narcissa was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of a woman's voice, so loud it all but echoed through the Alley.

"Alright then, so we're all done with our shopping, we've got everything we need? Good then, back home we go, I expect your father's wait- _Ronald Weasley, wander off and I swear I'll tie you to your bed!_"

Narcissa recognized Molly Weasley, standing with her hands on her hips, red in the face and glaring at her teenage son- Ronald, presumably, Narcissa recognized him as one of the boys from Madam Malkin's- as he turned away from a shop window and walked sheepishly back to his mother. Molly Weasley huffed and continued her sentence. "_As I was saying_, I expect your father's waiting at home for us."

Narcissa shook her head. Couldn't anyone keep tabs on their children these days? It then occurred to her that she'd just likened herself to the Weasley woman, and she shuddered slightly. Where the hell was Draco, anyway? Narcissa caught herself scanning the ground, as if expecting him to pop out from behind a rubbish bin and shout "Boo!" to playfully frighten her like he had as a child…

"Looking for someone?" Narcissa hastily looked up at the sound of Molly Weasley's sympathetic voice. The Weasley woman must have noticed her glancing around. Narcissa looked up and met her eyes, and was surprised to find no hostility there, only the innate understanding that exists between mothers. Narcissa hesitated for a fraction of a second. "No, I'm not." As she walked away, she could see Molly Weasley shake her head.

As Draco turned the corner to return to Diagon Alley, he saw his mother, rubbing the back of her neck tensely as she scanned the Alley. _She's looking for me_, Draco thought, and the guilt nearly choked him. He supposed he should have known better than to slip away, especially after the paranoid lecture she'd given him about staying together at all times.

Draco had cleared his throat to call out her name when his mother looked up and saw him first. "_There _you are! Where have you _been_?"

It suddenly occurred to Draco that he hadn't come up with an alibi. He couldn't very well say, "It's alright Mum, I've just been off to Knockturn Alley to terrify Borgin from Borgin and Burke into telling me how to mend a Vanishing Cabinet. No big deal."

"I've um, just been- about."

"_About?" _Narcissa thought. _Boys! _It didn't really matter, she supposed. She sighed, debating which emotion was stronger, her anger that Draco had gone off on his own after she'd specifically told him not to, or her relief that he was alright.

Narcissa looked up at her son's face. His blonde bangs had fallen into his face ever so slightly, but in a nice way, and his soulful gray-blue eyes were staring down at her. She'd always thought he had beautiful eyes. What a handsome man he had grown up to be…she felt slightly ashamed that she'd never taken full notice before, but she supposed that she had been rather preoccupied as of late. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about him that reminded her of…well, that reminded her of _someone. _

He spoke before she could. "I'm sorry, Mum." He put a hand on her shoulder, and even though his skin was cool to the touch, her son's touch was comforting nonetheless. She opened her mouth to speak, and then simply placed her hand over his.

"It's alright. As long as you're okay, everything's alright." She realized she meant every word.

Her son nodded. "Yeah, Mum. I'm fine." As soon he had spoken the words, he realized he wasn't sure how much he meant them.

_Author's Note: One of the central focuses of this story is the shattered pieces of Draco's and Narcissa's lives after Lucius's trial. If the parts that reference Draco being a Death Eater are vague, that's intentional. I think at this stage in the game Draco is actually a little in denial. He's just going along with everything, trying not to take in the full weight of what everything means for him and his family. He doesn't want to burden his mother with his worries when it's clear to him that she's been absolutely destroyed by her husband's imprisonment. I also think that he's struggling not only with his mother's distress, but with this means for his relationship with his father. He mentions "wishing he had behaved around his father when he'd had the chance"…I think he's having a hard time with the fact that he may never get to improve his relationship with his father. Just a little info so readers could better understand the angle I was writing from. Oh, and the scene between Molly and Narcissa wasn't totally random either, I thought it was important for Narcissa to see that "blood-traitors" are just like her in some ways!_

_Thanks for reading, and please review! _


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